Legends of a Lemon Drop Lover
by TheInsomniacsGuild
Summary: An insight to the life of Albus Dumbledore.


A Mission of Utmost Importance

Disclaimer: The authors would like to report that they do not have legal creative license to employ the use of J.K. Rowling's characters for their own literary use in order to yield a profit. Therefore, they would like to formally announce that they are most definitely not gaining any such profits but have chosen ignored any other property rights in order to amuse themselves by developing the strange, manic habits of such aforementioned characters.

Note: The conclusion to this story may be found under another one of our stories, specifically chapter three of The Bothersome Nose: Tales of a Greasy Git.

**

"Minerva, Severus."

The professors blinked at the slightly unhinged headmaster in confusion. They had just been called by Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster, leader of the Order of the Phoenix, to go…shopping. Or, as the headmaster phrased it so it would sound remotely appealing, they were to "accompany him on a mission of utmost importance to acquire items of the most sensitive nature that were needed to secure victory against the Dark Lord," and there were "no others he would trust to help him accomplish this undertaking as much as them." The professors where not fooled.

"Absolutely not."

"I'll stay here and watch the students."

The two professors intoned in unison before Snape added, "Exactly. Someone should stay here to make sure that the Potter brat and his gaggle of friends stay out of trouble."

"Amazing foresight on your part, professors! Great minds _do_ think alike," he declared, as if a general worry over the wellbeing of hundreds of un-chaperoned teenagers alone in a magical castle was an uncommon concern. Dumbledore was even more enthusiastic than usual, which was a foreboding matter in it of itself. "However, when I asked Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick if they would accompany us as well, they opted to sacrifice their parts in the excursion for the safety of the students. The situation is under control."

After some considerable protesting on McGonagall and Snape's part, they finally yielded to Dumbledore's insistence and resigned themselves to whatever impending doom surely awaited them.

**

Inevitably, and largely against their will, McGonagall and Snape soon found themselves seated at a narrow table in the Leaky Cauldron, listening to Dumbledore's long and primarily unfocused lecture on the history of Muggle confectioneries.

"So, as you well can imagine, the industry did quite well after the development of automated machinery. Mass production always seems to be favorable with those Muggles. I wonder why," Dumbledore mused thoughtfully.

"What an interesting concept," Snape said dryly. "Now, what was it you said you needed to buy?"

"Nothing but the essentials, of course! As I was saying, factories are quite useful in the Muggle world. They can never have enough, those Muggles, so I daresay they produce as much of one item as they can to satisfy—

"Well, Dumbledore, if you do intend to drag us along shopping, I would appreciate it if it was before nightfall!" snapped Minerva, finally having had enough of his tangential monologue that had lasted the greater part of the evening. She had hoped to allow him to be distracted in order to avoid the expedition entirely, but he seemed to be adamant enough to ignore the time, even if they ended up stumbling about like lunatics in the dark.

"Oh, yes. Right you are, Minerva. Spare me a moment, if you would, for I should like to acquire a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ before we depart. My owl seems to have been having some trouble with his memory recently. Though, I did receive a post from a fascinating tribal wizard from Tanzania last Tuesday when the owl flew a bit off course. You would be simply amazed at some of the magical healing techniques they utilize in that region—

"Dumbledore, the newspaper," reminded Snape. With that, he was off around the corner, leaving his exasperated employees to some civilized conversation. They waited for a several minutes, and, after it had long exceeded the necessary time required for Dumbledore to purchase a newspaper, McGonagall finally spoke.

"Severus, what do you suppose is taking him so long?" she muttered irritably. Though, overabundances of scenarios were unfolding in her mind, each with varying levels of horror.

Suddenly, a terrified expression spread over Snape's face.

"Minerva, Dumbledore didn't offer you a lemon drop today, did he?" he inquired through clenched teeth.

"What? A lemon drop – what would that have to do with anything?!" she fumed. Dumbledore's confounded candy obsession and his fruitless, daily attempts to persuade her to partake in it was obnoxious, but now Severus was suddenly in league with him? The color drained from McGonagall's face as the realization dawned on her.

"No, he didn't," she replied, clutching her teacup apprehensively. "His supply must have run out."

"And now he's wandering the streets of London unsupervised."

Her eyes widened and she quickly rose to her feet. The last time Dumbledore had been set loose in the Muggle world in pursuit of his sugary delicacies, several memories had to be modified and, undoubtedly, several innocent bystanders were irreversibly traumatized. The two raced out of the pub, hoping to apprehend the Headmaster before any lasting damage was done to society.

**

"What does that imbecile think he's doing?!" raged the professors, nearly running down the streets of London as they tracked Dumbledore. Fortunately, McGonagall and Snape had remembered to stow their wands and transfigure their clothing into something that would seem less ostentatious to the Muggle population. Dumbledore, however, continually overlooked such cultural faux pas and exposed anyone in his presence to his flamboyant attire.

"Why does he even _like_ those bloody candies?" McGonagall seethed.

The inquiry caused Snape's analytical mind to reflect. The most obvious conclusion that a supremely suspicious, spying potions master could conclude was not comforting.

"Perhaps he laces them with some sort of potion. He could use almost anything; I mean, the distinctive smell would certainly cover up a majority of uniquely scented potions. It's probably a calming draught; that would make sense. But it could be Amorentia, or, or, Veritaserum. –"

"I see the store."

Indeed, McGonagall had found the store. Before them was a daunting storefront, complete with neon lights, oscillating to portray childish images of sweets and elaborate cartoon characters. Emitted from the gigantic purple speakers was a sickeningly happy, carnival-like music that made the professors want to gouge out both their eyes and ears with whatever was most readily available. The epic eyesore was a thing that could only attract throngs of sugar-craving schoolchildren… and Professor Dumbledore.

McGonagall and Snape reluctantly ventured through the door and were greeted with yet another appalling sight. The store was decorated with bright lights in varying and equally bright colors. Children zoomed around in search of their latest desire while acutely harassed parents looked on. As soon as Severus went looking for Dumbledore amidst the rows of candies, McGonagall seized the opportunity to retreat back outside, knowing that his insanity would be at least contained safely within the store.

**

Just as Minerva reached the shelter of a bench as far away from the candy store as possible without it straying from her line of sight, her minute peacefulness was reversed by a booming, grandiose voice.

"My good sir, would you like an autograph?"

Minerva turned her head to see Gilderoy Lockhart, who had surely escaped the clutches of the unwatchful St. Mungo's attendants, pestering unsuspecting Londoners. Despite his complete memory modification, Lockhart seemed to have not loosened his grip on his inflated impression of himself, which often translated into the mistaken belief that all others also believed him to be some sort of wizarding god who had single-handedly delivered them from numerous terrible fates. Lockhart's narcissism had evidently transcended beyond his memory and become part of his personality, even if he was not entirely sure _which_ demises he had saved the world from.

"You there, madam! Certainly, you would like an autograph and are too shy to ask!"

Though Minerva was quite content to observe when Lockhart's maddening antics were directed at someone else, she was not about to condone them when she was the target.

"No, I would _not_ like an autograph."

Lockhart was shocked and Minerva almost turned to make sure an apocalyptic scene was not transpiring behind her. No, Lockhart's realization that he was not the center of the known universe was enough to end his hopeless little life.

"Kelly, look over there! That man is signing _autographs_! He must be a celebrity! Should we go talk to him?"

In the distance were two young teenage Muggle girls, giggling to themselves and clearly inundated by their good fortune of seeing a celebrity, with whom they seemed to be already becoming enamored by. Minerva, not wanting to destroy what would certainly be the highlight of their approximately thirteenth year of life, decided to act on this getaway opportunity.

"Sir, over there I see two girls who would quite like to receive an autograph from you," reported Minerva.

Lockhart's face lit up as if all evil in society had been crushed and death had been cured, and then he proceeded to rush over to the newest source that would provide him with the attention he assumed he deserved.

Minerva withdrew to the alleyway, not at all concerned with the possibility of being assaulted by any despicable, lawbreaking Muggles; she had a wand (and was already sufficiently provoked), and they did not. Rather, she contemplated the dichotomy of leaving Lockhart to torment the British population, which was indeed a much warranted punishment to whichever moron had elected to allow Lockhart to stroll about London alone, or informing St. Mungo's of their escapee to prevent lasting harm.

"Yes, an autograph! I would be simply elated to oblige your humble request! Now, are you what they call 'Muggles'? I may have to modify your memory, then…"

Lockhart's obnoxious tone resonated all the way to Minerva, who was still barricading herself in the alleyway beside the candy store, as did the giggling of the now frightened pair of girls. Minerva sighed. Although it was very tempting to subject others to the horror she had endured during Lockhart's brief employment stint at Hogwarts, it was, rather unfortunately, morally incorrect to risk such destruction to society. She Transfigured the appropriate materials, including an owl with spectacle-like markings around its eyes, to send a notification to St. Mungo's regarding their latest failure in restraining a long-term resident.

Suddenly, the voice of a hysterical child erupted above the clamor of the sweet shop just as Minerva was signing the letter.

"MUM! An ugly man with a big nose told me he'd turn me into a flobberworm!"

"What?! He said he'd turn you into a – Henry, are you telling lies again?!"

"NO! He really did!"

Once again, Minerva sighed as she felt called to the task of restoring order, this time in the form of ensuring a certain coworker would not violate the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy and fuel the overpopulation of flobberworms. However, it was not exactly a legal situation Minerva came upon while in the store.

**

"Severus, my boy, you simply must see what I have found," said Dumbledore before dragging the sneering potion's master over to a corner of the store.

"You struck me as a boxer's man, and I found these delightful ones." Dumbledore, to Severus's horror, held up lime green boxers covered with lemons. "So, what size are you? These would certainly add some color to your wardrobe."

"Yes, Dumbledore, except for the fact that NO ONE would EVER see them," sneered Snape.

Dumbledore blinked owlishly at Snape. "Severus, when was the last time you—"

"We are NOT discussing my personal habits. Not here, not anywhere," Snape said while trying to keep the panic out of his voice; this was a worse torture than being a spy in the presence of the Dark Lord, especially with Minerva laughing.

***

**A/N:**

_Ceyl: Kitty's plotting. Isn't that right, hmm? You kind of look like a muffin._

_Ren: :concerned: Are you talking to my cat again?_

_Ceyl: Maybe. Just a little. She looks like a muffin and she's plotting. :to cat in a higher voice that one would use to speak to small children: Isn't that right? Yeah…_

_Ren: I don't know why you like my cat so much._

_Ceyl: :pets cat and laughs:_

_:Ceyl continues to have a one-sided and generally fragmented conversation with the cat"_

_Ren: You know, you're really bad author's note material. All I have is "Kitty's plotting. Isn't that right, hmm? You kind of look like a muffin. "_

_Ceyl: :glares and scrunches nose like an irritated rodent:_

_Ren: Do you have anything else to say for yourself? (laughs)_

_Ceyl: :is not especially pleased with me: (later) Your tail is so funny._

_Ceyl: WHAT!! I AM NOT AN IRRITATED RODENT!_

_Ren: No, but that's what you looked like. _


End file.
